


same love, new perspective

by stearofoam



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: And Deals with Feelings in a Professional Way (He Doesn't), Character Development, Developing Relationship, Ethan Hunt has Trust Issues, Ethan Is Loved By His Friends Who Were Exasperated With His Self-Sacrificing Bullshit, Falling In Love, Glasses Is Use As a Plot Device, Introspection, M/M, Mentions of Ethan's Past Relationships, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24755491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stearofoam/pseuds/stearofoam
Summary: One day, Ethan discovered that Benji wore glasses to work.(A story about normality and change, where traumas and scars do not define a person's ability to love. It's just going to take a while, because someone needs to save the world first.)
Relationships: Benji Dunn & Ethan Hunt, Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt
Comments: 32
Kudos: 103





	1. 1. An uneven start

**Author's Note:**

> This fic's timeline will set from post-MI3 to Fallout. Think of this like a "fill the blank" fic, because I want to explore possible interactions that would heighten Ethan and Benji's relationship in the time skip between each movie.
> 
> Also, I use Ethan's POV for the entirety of this story. His character is really intriguing for me (though my favorite will always be Benji <3) because he went through so much?? All the backstabbing, betrayal, being honey-potted, and disavowed multiple times?? He ain't mentally right, but he still has a strong sense of justice, he loves and protects people he holds dear so fricking hard and I want to explore that duality in his personality so much!
> 
> Okay, enough rambling. Onto the story!

Many days after the well-deserved honeymoon with his Julia, Ethan chanced a visit to theheadquarters not as an employee, but as a visitor.

He was still on paid leave, his life was like a dream. Yet, how could Ethan pass the chanceto make sure there was no terrorist too much for the IMF to handle, nor were there anythird-world countries mixing up in the grand scheme of some supremacist villain? But as itturned out, there was no supervillain needed to be stopped, no new recruits turned up missing,no traffic rings needed to be shut down that day--

And maybe Julia was right, even as a jest, that he was more married to the job than to her, andshe had to learn how to share Ethan to the world eventually.

Disappointed yet relieved, he made rounds around the office and then realized he was severelylacking in companionship. He only knew Luther and the man was busy with training the newtechs. Declan and Zhen were shipped to Taiwan, on classified ops. Ethan was stopped by someof his old trainees, but the conversations were short-lived. There was nothing for him to do.

Disappointment doubled, he headed to his last option.

Analytics was his least favorite quarter, all because of the constant chaos happening inside.People talked over people in a language that barely resembled the human language. Theatmosphere was claustrophobic, the air permanently stuffed with ink, air freshener, and thepungent odor of overworked machines. Ethan smiled politely at the passing technicians, playingthe-floor-is-lava with the scattered papers and cartons of Chinese takeout before heading to onecubicle, where one Benjamin Dunn went comatose on the keyboard.

_Well, that was new_ , Ethan thought. _He’s wearing glasses_.

The sight was nothing of grandeur, only elicited a little ‘huh’ in Ethan’s mind. He was moreinterested in waking the tech up, to which he did with a hearty thrum onto Benji’s back-- and there Benji went, shot up as if he was electrocuted. Ethan hid his grins well.

“Huh--Wuh, what, who-- Oh great, bloody _wonderful_ ,” Benji blearily babbled all of that as agreeting, then shook his head to begin the proper greeting, “Wel, welcome back Mr. Hunt! I uh, Ididn’t know--”

“Hey, hey, take it easy. I’m on incognito today.” - Ethan broadened his grin. His right pointerfinger then circled his own face - “You’re near-sighted?”

It took Benji a good minute to realize he was aiming at the glasses nearly falling off the bridge ofBenji’s nose.

“Only while I'm OT or on misty days. And also when I’m a pebble away from completely losing my grasp ofthe English language, just shy from complete nicotine withdrawal, before unknowinglydisappointed Mum with pouring American--”

“Benji.”

“-- so-called “coffee” down my throat for the umpteenth time, which is just…” 

Benji paused -“Rambling. I am.”

“You are.” - Ethan sagely supplied. The tech replied by hiding his face in his palms, his napereddened.

Truth be told, Ethan had thought unfavorably of Benji before. He had low-tolerance forblabbermouths, given in this business where lives could be wasted and missions could fail if onedidn’t outmatch fate or time. That, however, changed when Benji had become his temporarypartner-in-crime during his search in China, risking his job for Ethan. Benji still irked him, butthere was something refreshing in watching the naivete. Maybe because it was rare.

Maybe because Benji reminded Ethan of his trainees, of Lindsay, of his early days under Jim’swings.

Ethan yanked his mind out of the pit by replying to Benji’s clumsy pondering, running scriptedanswers about his wife, his honeymoon, his plans in the future. _She’s good, thanks to you.Yeah, we went to Morocco, the sight-seeing is to live for. No idea yet, but I’m still employed ifthat’s what you’re worried about._

“Are you alright, after all?”

Ethan halted his script, blinking back. Being caught off guard was rare to him.

“I, well, I only heard here and there. Nothing too invading or private, you best believe that! ...But,” - Benji continued, fiddling with the left temple tip of his glasses absent-mindedly -“Between being hunted down, rescuing your wife, flinging yourself back and forth to differentends of the world... It’s quite a baggage, innit? So I thought-- well it’s not any of my business,obviously, I’m probably reaching, _buuut_ I just... I can’t help but worry about you, you know? To hear whatyou’ve been through, even if I’m not your colleague, I would at least be slightly concerned--”

Benji kept on rambling.

Somewhere along with the rant, Ethan turned himself off for several seconds. His immediate reaction toBenji’s spontaneous concern was - instead of being thankful - wary of the young tech’sintention.

He then realized he was over-analyzing, when Ethan could not find any leverage, normerit, that Benji could use against him.

Somewhere along with the on-going rant, Benji talked about his unfortunate station encounters,while Ethan hastily collected himself under a calm facade. Somewhere along with the disastersEthan had gone through, he might have lost bits of himself. He may have gone jaded, doubtful, and a little paranoidof everyone including Luther, his best friend, and Julia, his wife.

When would he be stabbed in the back, again, for growing contemplated, for taking things for granted? This peace he was having would not last forever. There would always be another Musgrave, another Davian-- another Jim Phelps.

How could Ethan rest easy? _When_ would Ethan rest easy?

All of that uneasiness, unraveled by apassing question from a stranger like Benji.

“... Truth be told, I get by. Thank you for your concern, Benji.”

Ethan used his script instead of facing the truth. He was more than aware that his smile did notreach his eyes, and Benji must have seen it too. Yet, like a good sport, he heaved a sigh of relief for Ethan’s sake. 

Ethan decided, it was time tobail.

“I do owe you one for Julia-- No, don’t try to downplay it, I couldn’t have found her without yourhelp,” - He said to Benji before leaving, putting on a show of being sincere and grateful. It wasnot much of an act anyway, he really did appreciate Benji's help - “If there’s anything I can do to return the favor-”

“Well we could-- I mean, you, if you can get your hands on one specific edition of Ocean’s Eleven, _and_ somehow mail it to my P.O box at the end of this week...”

“Hypothetically.”

“ _Hypothetically_. Then, we’re even-steven. Peachy.”

Ethan blinked at Benji, again. “... That’s it?”

“It’s either that or has the department install a tea shop where I can still remember to take pridein my heritage. But I don’t want to push my, nor your luck...”

He returned Benji’s sheepish grin with an “As you wish” salute, then made his way to the exit. The nextmorning, Ethan went to several record shops in L.A to find the Blu-ray version of Ocean’sEleven’s 50th edition, the one with add-on commentaries, physical maps, and little features a person in Benji’s age shouldnever found them interesting. If Benji were to find a Blu-ray case along with atin box of Harney & Sons Black English Tea, then it was between them only. Benjinever specified his favor clearly, and it was high time for the tech to learn that Ethan wasinfuriatingly _overbearing_ anyway.

Ethan was sure he would not see Benji again. Not when years later, he and Luther wouldwreck their brains coming up with a ludicrous plan that both put Julia under the radar while beinga pawn of IMF’s battle against terrorism, once again choosing to sacrifice in order to protect thethings he loved.

He was sure, so sure, that Benji’s sudden compassion would never find him a target again.

“Benji?” - He raised his voice, years later while being in the back of a moving van, letting himselfbe surprised yet again - “How is it you’re here?”


	2. 2. An uneven development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Took place between the end of Ghost Protocol and the cold open of Rogue Nation.

Benji did not have the chance to wear his glasses much during the Heindrich op. True to his word, the tech-turned-field-agent only wore them in Moscow and remained bespectacled-free in Dubai, Mumbai, San Francisco, then afterward- Seattle.  
  
Ethan did not think highly of glasses, especially within the context of their jobs. Glasses were frail, needed too much maintenance. The more dependent one was on them, the more hindered one would be if they were lost suddenly. Maybe it would get broken in a high-speed chase or got knocked apart after a brawl. Vision impairment was a nuisance.   
That said, he let Benji have it easy for the time being. He was like a labrador; easily impressed, sometimes incompetent and awkward, a bit annoying, but incredibly fun to be around. Moreso, Benji surprised him with his quick wit, his wise-crack humor, and most of all-- his marksmanship.

Ethan knew Jane had a soft spot for Benji. Brandt was less pissy with him than with most people. And Luther was already, in spirit, ‘adopted’ Benji under his wings.  
  
As for Ethan, well... He had no problem being the leader of Benji’s dream, keeping the young man’s obvious hero-worship complex at a safe distance.  
  
(It was so obvious. It was admirable of Benji, too, for only slipping up at near-appropriate times.)

  
They met again in a different op, six months after their last rendezvous in Seattle. It was Benji’s third mission; meanwhile, Ethan had already lost count on his own.

The square, black frame decorated Benji’s face came not as a surprise, not when Ethan had read the mission file and knew where the station of his temp team would be placed.

“Estimation, Benji?” - Ethan asked while strategically choosing where to put his next steps on the floorboard. He heard a faint sneeze somewhere nearby. Maybe it was from Agent Ly in the next room.  
  
“Uhhh,” - Benji got a tablet pen wedged between his teeth, squinted his eyes then retreated to his oversized windbreaker, like a hibernating snow weasel - “Got a spring in their paces there. They could be in a jeep, maybe a carriage… Bloody hail messing up with the signal, how in God’s name does the IMF dock a safehouse here of all places--”  
  
“Benji.”  
  
“Right, right! Um, I’d say… seventeen thirty. We have two more hours.”  
  
“Great work, Benji.” - Ethan then called out, relief apparent in his voice - “Ly, Duncan, thirty-minute break! Barricade the doors and leave the surveillance on!”  
  
There were echoes of whooping ringing in response, the relief was so apparent Ethan could not bear to reprimand them. The cabin they were stationed in (or rather, a broken-down shack) was... as eloquently put by Benji, _'Jesus Christ, it's like the aftermath of some termite massive orgy going wrong_ ''-- the whole place squeaked and shrieked from dusk to dawn, its windows splintered, doors weevilled, floorboards rotten, and every step he took was an experience akin to playing Jenga than to inhabit a roof and four walls for a few days. To top it off, the _shack_ was balanced (loosely used verb) on the top of an incredibly steep hill, on the Northern mountain area of Vietnam, in the middle of November. Sapa was lovely, as lovely as being forced to stay in front of a working ice cooler and had no option to stray away.

(Even so, this province was breathtakingly romantic; more so when the soft glow of dawn started to sweep over the huts, the hills, the terraces, from five to six every morning. So romantic, he brought Nyah here once. Then there was no Nyah, and Julia eventually left him the same.)

(It was him and his temp team now, huddled over a portable heating stove, slurping down hot soup and whiskey shots in record time.)  
  
He and Benji switched shifts with Ly and Duncan fifteen minutes later, guarding doors and looking ahead in comfortable silence. Their political refugee was not likely to turn up sooner than estimated, but one could never be sure of the open, snowy plains that might house vicious intentions from foreign agencies. His team’s mission was to receive the intel from this refugee, escort them to a neutral area in Laos, transport the intel back, and pray that no incident would put any diplomatic strains onto the already-tense relationship between China and the ASEAN.  
  
To Ethan, this was still one of the better vacations he had taken so far.  
  
“So… Vietnamese citizenship, huh?”  
  
Ah, small talks. Ethan smiled, polite - “One of the few quirks of being an IMF agent.”  
  
“It’s like collecting Pokemon cards for you, I bet. Well, now, for us I guess,” - Benji chuckled, pulling the hood of his windbreaker tighter to his neck. He looked soft, huggable - “If only getting a green card is as easy as this. Took me two years and a half for it, meanwhile got an Irish ID and Passport mailed to my doorstep in a day! Magic.”  
  
“Don’t they go lax for people with Irish heritage?”  
  
“Aw, sure look it. Had it on m'ma side, dug a certificate from m’ basement to show the guards. He thinks I’m some Shoneen first, try t’ kick me out at first! Eejits, the lot of ‘em.”  
  
Benji belted out a decent accent, and this was one department he got better than Ethan. He rolled his eyes while Benji snickered next to him, could not help but put on a more genuine smile a second later. It was still weird for Ethan, a good kind of weird. Maybe this was what normality was supposed to feel like.  
  
An hour was left on the clock. They were well into the small talks, topics jumping to and fro while their eyes trained on the rocky hill slopes below, and Ethan wished he could have more moments like this in his life. Maybe not necessarily having moments with just Benji; he could have a pint or two with Luther on the weekends, catching up, sharing stories. Or with Brandt, to ease the awkward tension between them, just a bit. Maybe with Jane, to have a proper chance of consoling her with the loss of Hanaway.  
  
Or with Julia, if his presence would not put her at risk once again.  
  
(Normality. What a far-fetched wonder to yearn for.)  
  
Benji hacked out a sneeze, loud and messy. Ethan was just in time to catch Benji’s glasses from falling into the gap between the moth-eaten floorboards, then slid it back onto his face with an upward glide. His pointer and middle fingers rested on the slope of Benji’s nose, and he had inched closer until they were only a few centimeters apart.  
  
Ethan then realized the implication of his action.  
  
Benji’s cheek under his palm turned ruddy, warm in an instant. It was not because of the residue effect of the whiskey shots.  
  
“Sorry.” - Ethan said, then took two steps backward. _Uh oh_ , he thought. Was that something he should be apologetic for?  
  
“No, no need, I... I should, say, thank you. Would have swan dive into the hills if this, this falls off...” - Benji stammered. His face was aflame. He had been trying so hard to conceal it, and Ethan felt apologetic for playing with his feelings like that, even when it was unintentional.  
  
“And leave me here all by myself, for a pair of glasses?” - Ethan jokingly asked.  
  
“Not to that extreme! ... Got really into it for a second, though.”  
  
“Here lies Benji Dunn: Chasing Classic for Glasses.” - He laughed in time with Benji’s choked laughter - “You know what, no one would believe me if I said you've died in vain. Me pushing you down would be more believable.”  
  
The field-technician raised his hands in defense upon seeing Ethan rise up from his spot, then proceeded to yelp, grabbing Ethan's waist when he mock-pushed the younger man to the open door. They did not look any different from a pair of children playing rough-housing, with their faces red and their smiles splitting, wild and unchecked.  
  
“No, no! Don’t you dare push me-- Help! Somebody! I’ve been assaulted by an American devil, he’s trying to snub me ‘cus of my excellent Russian accent!”  
  
“Oh keep telling yourself that!” - Ethan quipped back, giving Benji a noogie instead - “You like that? You like to disrespect your elders like that huh, punk? Huh?”  
  
“Luther would hear about this Ethan, he will-- Augh, okay, oho-kay! I yield, haha! I yiel--”  
  
A board suddenly groaned, loud, and cracked under Ethan’s foot, effectively shushing the both of them up. They were holding onto each other now, eyes widened in apprehension to the new crack on the floor. Benji held his breath, almost stepping onto Ethan’s feet.  
  
The groan echoed, belched under them like a drunkard. And then slowly subsided, and then, then… At long last, quiet down.  
  
Peaceful, at last.  
  
Ethan was the first one to crack, clutching Benji’s side and laughing into his right shoulder. Benji fared no better, following Ethan with his high-pitched cackle, scrunched nose, and red cheeks. He leaned his weight onto Ethan as he was shaking from head to toe, peals of laughter magically did not alarm the other agents into running down and check what the fuck was going on with those loony middle-aged men.  
  
And it should be for the best. They did not need to see the shit show that was of two grown men-- who were joined to the hips, who were holding onto each other as they laughed and hiccuped about nothing of importance.  
  
They did not need to see Ethan at his most relaxed, at one of the moments where he was not Ethan the IMF Star Agent, but Ethan the Plain Human Being.  
  
Sapa suddenly thawed for Ethan. The biting cold winds turned soft so instantaneously, caressing his heart, and was so very sweet for a blissful moment.  
  
(Normality. This was normality.)  
  
Benji smiled at him like he was a wonder to behold, and Ethan felt the sweetness inside him swelling ten folds.  
  
The moment was cut short with a loud beep coming from their tracking devices. The rest carried on like Ethan’s favorite version of a holiday: The refugee came to with a coordinate and a physical note for a six-digit code. Duncan and Benji accompanied the refugee to Laos on a different route, as planned. Ethan and Ly were more than happy to ditch the disastrous shack behind them and traveled to South of Cambodia, retrieved a case of encrypted files about a deceased whistleblower who had tried to uncover an elaborated child pornography ring led by an Australian official. They stayed low for a week before regrouping at Myanmar, and the rest were the IMF and Interpol’s baggage to take care of.  
  
“Wish all of our missions went like that!” - Benji sighed happily, after a belly full of sweet roti and wheat beer, wiggling in his plastic seat - “No assassins, no bombing, no kidnapping. A walk in the park, isn’t it?”  
  
For veteran IMF agents like Duncan and Ly, they would scoff and bemoan about how boring it was. For someone like Ethan Hunt, he could have done this mission while asleep.  
  
But somehow, he raised his glass of beer to his teammates. And replied, with honesty, “Sentiment shared.”  
  


  
  
After that, his daily life returned to its original schedule: Missions after missions that were tougher, bleaker, much more elaborated, with one incident seemingly connected to the other and another. And to top it off, the IMF was officially grilled by the CIA for allegations of misconduct.  
  
The mission in Minsk was going to be an off-the-book operation, with Ethan only extending his hands for the most capable and trusted allies. Brandt was on board, his front of being the Field Operations Director proved useful to distract the CIA for the time being, and the man was damn good in a command room. Luther was stuck in Singapore at the given moment, reassured Ethan he would be there in time. If there was anyone who gave their words and had Ethan held onto it without hesitation… that would be Luther.  
  
He still needed an extra hand and a pair of eyes on the field. Ethan needed someone capable, someone experienced. Someone he knew he had an impact on. Someone who had proved to be a loyal ally.  
  
Someone who made him feel at ease just for being there.  
  
Ethan opened a private line to the first option in his mind -

“Hey, Benji. Got that Belarus passport ready yet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I shoe-horn one of my favorite provinces in my country into this fic, sue me. Jk jk please don't.
> 
> I feel like Ethan & Benji's relationship gets a dramatic update after the time skip from GP to RN, where Ethan has acted more like a mentor/senior to Benji in GP, while in RN they are on equal ground, sort-of like a buddy to each other already. Heck, why does M:I never specify their timeline (sigh)
> 
> Hope that you enjoy this chapter! Leave a kudo/comment if you want, and I'll see you in the next update (and it's gonna be a lengthy one!)


	3. 3. An uneven tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Took place in the entirety of M:I - Rogue Nation, aka, THE Benthan Movie.

The Syndicate was real. They were one step ahead, trapping him, killing an innocent life in front of his eyes.

The Syndicate was real, and he had just escaped them in the nick of time.

Ethan was no stranger to stab wounds and being stranded on foreign alleyways, practically in best-friend terms with bruises, blood loss, and fatigue. He limped to a safehouse, trusting Brandt to cover his track as he unlocked the door with his bloody handprint, then went straight to the medical cabin. The mysterious woman’s black jacket was tied around his waist, half soaked with blood; it was small, but made do as a temporary pressure on the wound. 

Ethan was no stranger to taking care of himself; from removing the bullet, biting his tongue as he sterilized the open wound, stitching himself together, applying bandages... to passing out on the bathroom floor, cold, lonely, with no definitive future to be seen.

When he slept, he dreamt of Nyah’s smile as she wrapped her hands around his naked form, her arms went as cold as the floor tiles at midnight. When he woke up, he missed Julia and her doting goodness, missed the warmth he had chosen to push away for the sake of both. 

Sentimental, he felt. Ethan let it linger for a second, then pushed it down as he pushed himself up, ready for another lonely day ahead.

Ethan sketched their faces: the murderer in glasses, the woman who saved him. He erased and redid the lines while on the run, from London to Cuba, until he got it right, satisfied with the result which even Brandt could begrudgingly agree with, _Yes Ethan, I can’t see it but I do hope it’s better than last time, but that’s not what I’d expect from this unsanctioned call. Now fuck off with your stroked ego, the package will be delivered at_ blah blah blah-

The favor he owed Brandt went past the limit of ‘free drinks’ as Ethan hit his sixth-month mark on running away from the CIA. Brandt was then his social feeder, updating him with relevant, important information: Luther resigned, still keeping Julia safe for Ethan’s sake. The IMF merged with the CIA now, and morale had never been lower. Jane also resigned. Benji got chummy with the CIA’s lie detector machine, and Brandt absolutely loathed Hunley.

“Why is Benji--”

_“Dunno; probably took a peek at the agents’ archive and saw something they like. If they can’t get a hold on Luther and I’m still their favorite Holly Willie, then Benji’s their playmate.”_

Ethan could not help but scoff incredulously - “He’s not even close. He doesn’t know me.”

_“Then let’s hope he really doesn’t, ‘cus that guy is good at bullshitting for your sake, holy shit.”_

The two-minute mark hit, making Ethan hung up without a goodbye. He organized his leads in the Havana safe room, pinning the missing agents’ faces on the map and stepping back to check his handiwork one last time before he had to take off to Paris. 

He went to fix the tablet’s cable, his mind somehow caught on the last conversation. Why did it have to be Benji, he wondered.

After a week and one unsuccessful raid from the CIA, Ethan got his answer. Benji was one of the newbies, he was closer to Ethan than the rest of the fresh blood in the IMF. From a bystander’s viewpoint, it seemed obvious that Ethan could use his reputation and power to affect Benji’s loyalty. That kind of naive obedience would crack, Benji would eventually sell Ethan out to save himself. Psychological manipulations and tortures saved the day again. 

(If what they thought of Benji was to be true, Ethan might not be surprised when the time came. The Brit might be cute and all, and while he had made Ethan feel normal and special when he was around… Ethan was never naive. Not after many heartbreaks and betrayals.) 

Ethan looked to his planner, where a red circle encased Austria on the map with a scribble of the exact time and date the Turandot would be played in Vienna. 

If they wanted a bone, he would give them a bone. Benji would thank him for this, eventually.

The plan backfired. All went to shit. That man was two steps ahead of him. The Chancellor of Austria was dead.

But most of all, Benji did not thank him. In fact, he was now yelling back, with misty eyes and uncontrollable protectiveness laced between anger, about why it was a shit idea to send him back even though it was necessary, even when Ethan had demanded him to do it.

“--More than that, I am your _friend_ \--” - Benji spitted out, and Ethan’s eyebrows flew up - “-- Now you call me because you needed my help! And you still do! So I am _staying_ , and that’s all we’re gonna say about that.”

Ethan should say something in return, he really should. Yet all he could do was straightened his back and gaped at Benji, really taking in the agent that Benjamin Dunn had become. 

He had grown out a nice beard, had been looking quite lovely in black tux and glasses... However, it was his eyes that drew Ethan in. They were bright, chock-full with emotions that Ethan could name: indignation, desperation, exasperation, care-- Care for him. Benji cared for him so much, he was willing to stay when a smarter man would simply agree and walk away.

Ethan knew some people would pledge to stay with him. Brandt, or Jane, after a lengthier discussion about the pros and cons of sending them away, the odds of them staying would be fifty-fifty. Luther might be able to stay after calmly reprimanded him for nonsensical thinking then asking Ethan if he was sure; Luther would never use his words to show his loyalty. He chanced a thought of Nyah, or Julia if she had been an agent; one would kick his ass, one would only need to look at him, and if Ethan was more weak-willed he would let them do whatever they wanted.

However, Benji knew the risks, called him his friend, told him to shut up and listen. He was quiet now, looking at Ethan with a fierce determination-- then changed to an anxious impatience, when Ethan was taking too long to reply.

When he said, “Okay”, for the first time in six-month, he had not been overthinking about his answer at all.

“... Morocco.”

The low tempo of his voice made Benji turn, a cock to his head and a near-adorable frown stretched on his forehead. It took him a moment to ponder, then Benji went exactly how Ethan had not expected him to be,

“Your honeymoon!”

“... What?” - Ethan felt his mind running a marathon then.

“You know, that time when I’m still a lab rat from downstairs? Your honeymoon, with you-know-who... Wait, I thought you wanted me to remember that.”

“No, I don't?”

“Then what’s with the _‘Morocco’_ \--” - he mimicked Ethan’s voice, then made a face and a semi-spiral motion with his hand, finishing off with an eyebrow raise. Ethan was at a loss for words for a second.

“You remember.” - he chose this to say instead. 

A shy smile then appeared on Benji’s mouth. He ducked his head, promptly going from whatever had just happened to glue his eyes to the computer screen, finding their means of transportation to Morocco. His eyes were more guarded, his stance was tenser, and it seemed that Benji had forgotten to pack one extra thing for the road, hadn’t he?

Ethan stepped closer, a hand went gently, purposefully, to Benji’s shoulder. He commended Benji’s growth in silence, watching how the blond agent had kept his feet squared, giving nothing away. 

“Where’s your glasses?”

“Oh. Uh. Huh.” - He still did not face Ethan - “See, my luggage wasn’t expecting a shift in schedule. Terribly missed, you bet. Also, I think I lost your glasses during the scuffle…”

“During the _what_?”

“The-- brawl, fight, you name it. There’s an assassin in the lighting booth and I tried to call you, but you got busy, so I… Ethan, you’re gripping my shoulder.”

He did not let go, not at first. His hand indeed had wounded onto the right shoulder pad of Benji’s tux with a grip that surprised himself with how intense it was. The thing was, he did not understand why he felt protective of Benji, in this particular moment, all of a sudden.

“Hey um, if you’re mad that I lost it and probably gonna bite us back in the arse later, I sorta smash it in a hurry. It was already broken when he slammed me onto the wall, I’m sorry, I should have--”

“No, no, it’s--” - _Only recognize you and without my command, it’s nondescript,_ Ethan wanted to say but instead he went to - “Are you hurt? Is there any visible wound? I don’t have much on my cabinet, but if you need stitches I could--”

He realized three things happening, consecutively:

One, he had inched closer to the point of crowding Benji against the computer stand. Two, his hand already drifted down to Benji’s lower back, his fingers were just a minute shy from racking the tux up in order to check for tears and traces of dried blood.

Three, Benji was staring at him, his face slacked, blank.

And for the first time, Ethan could not read what Benji was thinking of, at that moment.

Still, he held his gaze. Part stubbornness, part curiosity. Benji went for a scowl, a deliberate expression that shadowed his eyes under the slope of his eyebrows. It hit Ethan that Benji had changed, had truly grown into this job, just like how Ethan had learned to be the man he was today. Shouldn’t it make Ethan satisfied to see the younger man had matured, had taken this dangerous life more seriously? He should. This was beneficial to both of them.

(But then, for a spare moment, Ethan remembered Sapa.)

Benji turned to fully face Ethan. He removed Ethan’s hand away from his back, then brought it in between the gap of their chests. There were fingers coaxing his palm open, a stray thumb brushed so innocently over the pulse of his wrist. Ethan could see their differences; from their sizes, the tone of their skin, to the number of scars on them -- Ethan, tan and rough with scars distributed evenly, and Benji, paler and warmer with scars focused on the tip of his thumb and pointer. His skin was not as smooth as Ethan imagined, but the softness was spot on; he could feel it in his hand, in his palm, where Benji glided over his scarred lifeline, then his heart line last. It felt lasting, intimate.

“Glad to see you back, buddy.” - He breathed between the junction of their bodies, his breath lasting, intimate.

It was just a clasp. Benji squeezed their hands together, quickly, then let go. 

Yet Ethan could not let it go from his mind. Benji went back to his unreadable expression and announced there was a train boarding from Munich to Casablanca at five forty, and they should really go to bed. Ethan ended up not sleeping, one half of his brain preparing what to say, what to expect when they would meet Ilsa Faust again; and the other half replayed that scene again and again, wondering, hypothesizing, unraveling what was supposed to be clear, easy to read, easy to understand.

It was clear that Benji fancied him, had a crush on him. Maybe he could be in love with him.

It was unclear why Ethan felt joyous about this, when he clearly should not be.

“You can do that,” - was Benji’s unflinching answer to Ethan’s hypothetical ability to hold his breath for three minutes. 

Ilsa schooled her expression well, but even he could feel that she was as baffled as he was upon seeing this blatant, unrelenting display of trust. And as for Ethan, he kept his doubt to himself, putting the _“remember to hold your breath for three fucking minutes”_ and drew a small memo next to it, _“or else Benji will die”_ , in his mental planner. So, that’s that.

That’s that. He felt somewhat special for being trusted by Benji, who displayed it so openly, so steadfastly. That was not that. 

Why, Benji? Why, why, _why?_

Ethan had once imagined how death would feel. It was a part of the training specialized by Jim Phelps himself. It was to help the new and becoming agents deal with the reality of their jobs. To his old mentor, by getting to know death, should an agent accept their mission, one would be more willing to face their enemy better, quicker, rather than running away.

Ethan once said, and to whom he could not recall: His death would be to succumb to the feeling of powerlessness, of failure.

(By that standard, Ethan should have died countless times.)

(Maybe he had.)

This death was not one of those. When Ethan used up his last percent of oxygen, he could only think of one thing: _Benji was safe_. Benji would do fine. Ilsa would guide him to the next step. They would stop Solomon Lane in his stead.

But in the next moment, Ethan gasped for breath instead of dying. His body sluggish, his veins were aflame, and his brain still thought he was dead.

There was a woman whom he did not know. Why was she holding his face? Why was she wet? Why was he also wet, where were they?-- Ethan turned his head, his first instinct was to ask for help, for closure; from who, he did not remember. He should have known someone. He was supposed to be here, for someone.

There was another voice from afar, from above. Warm, rich, like brandy, Ethan had never felt so cold before. He forced himself to blink nonstop in order to force the blood flowing back to his brain while the pitter-patters were inching closer, frantic, for him. 

For him? Was this someone he knew?

Ethan tried to sit up while partially paralyzed. His side suddenly got warmer, and he looked up to see another pair of eyes above him. The colors of the sea and tropical sand greeted him back. A round, kind face, with receding hairline. It was a man who has plump cheeks and a soft beard, simmering blue eyes and soft crow marks etched on the corners of his eyes and mouth. His smile, moving from one corner then lifting another up in succession, was then fully focused at Ethan.

Ethan suddenly felt dissolved.

“Benji.”

“Yes, it’s Benji.” - The man confided in Ethan, his smile went watery and bright at the same time.

Benji then told him he did good, told him how one of these days he would be going too far. His mind started to jog backward, presenting him little snippets of memories like a series of jump cuts: There was Ethan swimming in some sort of pool, no oxygen tank, holding onto some yellow flashcards like a lifeline. Then there were Benji and this woman talking to him, they were in some sort of open villa, they wanted him to get something. There were him and Benji, locking eyes with each other in an amusing way, probably by something the woman had said. Impossible. Certainly not, weren’t they agents of the Impossible Mission Force? Funny. Benji got a funny bone, he liked that about him.

Ethan smiled at Benji, his facial muscle just kept on stretching his smile the more he listened to Benji’s rambling. It was endearing to have Benji talked to him like a baby, all soft and gooey and sweet. Benji had nice teeth. Benji had a warm hand, which was currently curled onto his naked chest. Hand, hands; Ethan remembered more about two hands clasping together, the action went slow, resolute, it was so nice to hold hands with someone else. Benji grinned like a loon, showing him a small rectangle box, what was it, was that why they were here, _Benji looked happy, Ethan too should be hap--_

There was a horrible sound, like the flash of a camera but rang as loud as thunder. Benji dropped to the floor, the woman quickly stole the item - _Ilsa, Ilsa Faust, she was a spy_ \- and ran up to the stone staircase in frantic, wide steps.

In his attempt to get up and catch on, he saw something like an apparition. Something akin to a ghost of a man in a dark coat, its face hidden under a pair of glasses and was currently squeezing Ilsa’s neck, with the ghost’s limbs shackled around her wrists and ankles as she ran.

Ethan remembered death, many deaths. He knew then, he could never be happy. Not until Ilsa was free from Solomon Lane, not until he could catch this man. Not until Benji was back safely in America. Not until the IMF would be reinstated again.

 _That really hurt_ , Benji groaned after being pulled up, and Ethan remembered saying something but it went unregistered in his brain. He hoped it was not the constant thought of, _Can you come with me, can you do this with me, after everything it will be alright again, I promised you._

He did not promise Benji that.

Later on, he wished he had.

* * *

“She set us up, Ethan.” - The venom in Brandt’s voice jolted Ethan into defense mode.

“She doesn’t,” - Ethan inclined to say ‘fuck’ between the lines, but his head was in auto-pilot now - “She delivers a message--”

“She _set us up!_ She _knew_ this would happen!”

“Only Lane _knows_ what’s going to happen!” - Ethan yelled back, then he had really meant to throw his phone at Brandt, maybe, or on the ground, when it rang and reported back Lane’s hideous voice, hideous words and demands. 

_Unlocked the disk by midnight, in exchange for Benji’s life._

“Ethan, that’s exactly how Lane wants you to do.”

Brandt was begging him now, to value the future instead of the present. And instead of complying, Ethan walked toward Brandt with his mind reeled backward, fuming with wrath, running with plans. He was now a gamble on his last dime.

“Which is why it has to happen. This is how we beat Lane. This is how we make everything right. Can’t you see?”

When Ethan repeated the question again, he realized he did not ask for Brandt’s sake; he asked for the crazed man reflected in Brandt’s eyes, who was unraveling at the seam, barely holding it together if not for the years of conditioning, repressing, overcoming odds and tragedies all by his lonesome.

“We can’t, Ethan.” - Luther’s voice rang closer behind, boisterous, grave - “If that’s what you’re suggesting, we cannot give terrorists even a portion of that wealth. Who knows what they are going to do with it.”

“It’s the only way,” - Ethan gritted his jaws together - “to get Benji back.”

“Or we’re tracking down her right now. She can’t be far from here. Security feeds will pick her up, then we tail her--”

“It's a waste of time. Lane would see that Benji’s of no use, plus it would expose us more to Syndicate’s traps. Can’t you see how much Lane wants this, Brandt? In our hands, we will make this his undoing.”

“The Prime Minister of England is under MI6’s protection. If we want anything to do with him, we have to go through--”

Luther barely finished his question before taking a look at Ethan’s face, and immediately clutched his knees together, as if he was in pain - “Jesus Christ, Ethan.”

“What? What is he going to do?” - Brandt panicked. 

“Ethan! You can’t, you, listen to me you crazy _dog_ ,” - Luther paced his steps quickly, grasped and shook Ethan’s shoulders like he was lunatic - “If this breaks out, it’s not just the IMF going into the trash. You’re talking about the contiguity between the US and England here!”

“Why is the US-UK politics a thing to talk about? What is he going to do?!” - Brandt yelled louder.

“Luther, if Ilsa is right, then Atlee is in cahoot with Syndicate. We’re gonna kill two birds in one--”

“-- Three birds, Ethan, make it three! Hell, make it many! We are disavowed agents, man, you know how deep in shit we’re gonna be in if this breaks out?!”

“Is he going to kill the Prime Minister?!” - Brandt suddenly looked ready to murder Ethan.

“I’m _trying to save Benji!_ I said it’s the only fucking way, _for fuck’s sake!_ If you two aren’t on board then just _go_ , alright?! _I’ll do it myself!_ ”

He shouted, hurt his throat and his lungs. Short breath, short gasps.

Like he was in the water torus. 

They were in an open, public space. Brandt and Luther were the only two people left that Ethan could count on to do this with him. He was breaking down in a public space, under public eyes. 

Benji was gone, and Ethan felt the hands of death appear in his perimeter. 

It took him a lot of seconds to sense Luther’s hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles onto his shoulder blades, Brandt guarded their backs as the trio retreated to a seclusive corner with an obscured view. Luther started the speech jammer app on his phone, guiding him to sit on the floor.

“We wanted to save Benji too, Ethan. You’re not the only one who feels strongly about his safety.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” - he said, tone flat. He had not known. Not yet.

“Don’t be, we’re all panic here. But things are at stakes, _high_ fucking stakes. So we’re going back to the base, collect ourselves, talk this through… Maybe we can think of something more doable, not that I say your idea was wrong. I can see it, Ethan,” - Luther gripped his shoulder - “I’m just not sure if we are ready for it.”

 _None of us were ready_ , Ethan wanted to say. His mind felt overheated, but he could not see any other way— Benji was unconscious in front of the camera feed, Benji wore a red overcoat, it was from Ethan’s because they could not risk going back to Benji’s hotel in Vienna. Lane knew Benji was the first link, the strongest center, the most vulnerable. Lane knew Ethan would save Benji at all costs because Lane knew Ethan’s nature, Ethan’s morality.

“Does it have to be this way, Ethan?”

He blinked himself out of his stupor, realized there were only him and Luther in the base. Brandt had already taken off, accepted the card dealt with him after almost an hour of arguing and questioning The Plan over and over again. Their masking machine was humming in one corner, building Atlee’s face, and there were bulletproof glasses on the ground. They would have to go out soon.

“I can’t think of any other solution.” - Ethan repeated.

“I’m not talking about _that_ ,” - His friend jerked a thumb to the general direction of the mask machine, the glass panels, and soon the nerve gas canisters - “I’m talking about you and Benji. Why did I have to hear about you two from Brandt of all people?”

“You were keeping watch on Julia. If they knew she’s alive, they would go for her and I would—“

“—rear your head outta hiding. Don’t I know that.” - Luther sighed - “But I’m in the game as long as you have, Ethan, I know what to do. I could have helped first.”

 _Why Benji_ , Luther meant. Ethan had answers for that: Benji was already being interrogated by the CIA. Benji was not someone too close to him. Benji had skills. Benji served as the perfect short-term companion, and if he had gotten caught, they could never trace it back to Ethan.

He readied to say all of that when his throat seized— he remembered Benji’s eyes, Benji’s hardened resolve. Benji’s apparent worries, Benji’s unwavering loyalty. Benji’s transparent feelings for Ethan. He never asked for anything back. He said he knew the risks of being with him.

“I don’t really know.” - Ethan tentatively admitted, and it was rare for him to be so unsure like this. Somehow, Luther understood where Ethan had not.

“It’s not like that.” - Ethan nearly pleaded - “If it was you or Brandt, I would—“

“You would, Ethan, and that’s why we’re willing to go through Hell with you. But we are not the same for you, aren’t we? If it were me, I would ask you to shoot me first, and you would do it. Brandt would ask you to leave him be, and you would work on a plan where you will count on him to work himself out of that situation first and then accommodate him later. Benji would follow you to the end of the world, and you would let him. Not because you think you’re doing him a favor, but because you need him there.”

(Needed, needed him. Needed normality, needed peace.) 

His phone screamed, _Time’s up_. Ethan went up before Luther could make more sense to him. He pushed the meltdown down, repressed it, he did not need it, he did not need to feel things right then. He had a job to do. He had a world to save.

“You always go frantic for that special someone, doesn’t it?”

Ethan’s steps faltered, then paced quicker. He knew in Luther’s view, he was running away rather than running forward. 

Ethan could not find it in himself to correct his friend, even if he tried.

They got the disk open, then destroyed it while Ethan murmured the multiple combinations over and over again. They plugged the police van and the panels while Ethan went running, racing with time, hands itching with a need so foreign. 

Ilsa and Benji sat like pawns in a chess match when Ethan arrived, and he nearly went ballistic as he discovered the Semtex bomb strapped to Benji’s chest.

He held it in. He had to hold it in. Not yet, _not yet_ — yet Ethan faltered at the last nineteen milliseconds, his facade trembled as he eyed his surroundings and registered nothing. Then he saw Benji again, eyes wide and honest, and Ethan wished he could be honest to him as well.

"Now let. Benji. _Go_."

He would always take things too far. It was only a matter of for whom.

Ethan looked down at Lane’s stone-cold form facing down, the monster’s glasses were knocked off a few inches away. When he pushed the box down, he could hear it moved, _clink clank clunk_ , bounced off the panels, and still intact. The glasses made Lane’s eyes darker, larger, a haunting image of a carnivore waiting in the dark, its eyes would be the last thing its prey saw before the prey succumbed to the claw, the maw, the violence, the pain.

Ilsa looked free. The apparition on her shoulders was gone, there was no maw around her neck anymore. She hugged him, warmly, and he reciprocated because he needed this as well. She was beautiful, deadly, and perfect for him.

Then he saw Benji’s back reflected in her eyes, then realized his and hers were the same; the eyes of lonely people, who would choose to sacrifice themselves than to think they deserved better. They could never tell each other to stop, to warn that they had gone too far. They would die with each other, but would never live for each other.

“You know where to find me.” - Ilsa said before departing. _I hope you fare better when we meet again_ , she did not say.

Ethan watched her go, then went back to the people who had stayed for him. He went to the back of the van and put a foot onto the glass chamber, his eyes never leaving Benji’s back throughout the road. The four of them stuck together through the whole one-hour procedure of waiting for Hunley, waiting for the MI6, following them both to see Lane truly secured. Benji kept his chin raised, bit his lips bloody. Ethan angled his body to shadow Benji, trying to shield the slight quivers in Benji’s bones from hindsight at best he could.

Brandt and Luther hugged Benji before leaving, Ethan quickly turned his back, away. He could not do that. 

“Ethan.” - There went the sound of a broken heart, his steps halted.

He wanted Benji to let go, to have feelings for someone else. He wanted to yank his sleeves away from Benji’s fragile grasp. He wanted whatever between them, whatever he was feeling for Benji, to be gone. 

Benji slowly loosened his grasp, just like how he wanted. Ethan then immediately twisted his back to turn around and gather the younger man’s body into a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” -- Benji gasped into his right cheek -- “Thank you, _thank you_ ,” -- he said it again like a mantra. Benji went sapped, shaking and shivering, but the man did not cry. His right cheek suddenly felt wet and he thought he had gotten it wrong-- 

No, it was Ethan who cried. Ethan had always been a silent, soundless crier. He should wipe it away.

Benji dug his fingers to Ethan’s back, vehemently, dearly, like Ethan was loved, like Ethan deserved to be loved. Benji broke down for both his and Ethan’s sake, the Thames drowned their hitched breaths under the lullaby of the waves.

Ethan would say, after a long while - “It’s raining.”

Benji would reply back - “Yeah. Should go inside.” - with a watery voice and dry eyes, wiped Ethan’s tears away like it was of his own.

(The Thames crooned under the nearby bridge, shifting, sensing things had shifted between them. She said nothing as Ethan was brave enough to stop moving, to let Benji clean his face free of tears, to look at Benji and started to yearn for him.)

(She said nothing, rushed nothing. And for that, Ethan was grateful.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag is dead,, time to post the longest chapter I've written in 2020 yet. 
> 
> Gosh, you ever feel dazed just... knowing RN exists. Knowing they did That. Benji in a tux and black frame glasses, the water torus scene, the London cafe scene... And though this is just my humble opinion, I will /fight/ on the hill that Benji's red jacket is from Ethan. We've SEEN his wardrobe choices. We've kNOWN his attire. That getup is Deliberately Choiced and I won't accept any criticism.
> 
> Anyway, two more chapters until the end! Please leave a kudo/comment if you like, and as always, thank you for reading! I'll see you soon <3


	4. 3. an uneven setback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after Rogue Nation and before the events of Fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another lengthy update! I cannot thank you all enough for the support, it means a lot to me and my drive to finish this story altogether!
> 
> A note: I won't shy from Ethan's canonical romantic relationships (yes that includes Nyah and Julia, and to some extends Claire) because that adds to who Ethan is. A bit more jaded and hella smart and calculating, but (Stitch's voice) still good, still caring, still such a mother-hen among the men. 
> 
> Also, this chapter gets a bit more violent, but nothing in graphic details.

When he loved Claire, it was love from a wanderer to a bountiful but locked garden. When he loved Nyah, itwas love from a wild buck to the endless field of evergreens. When he loved Julia, it was lovefrom a sojourner to the river leading him back to civilization.

Whatever he was feeling for Benji, it was surprisingly tame and slow, and frustrating as hell.

It was being bitten by a mosquito. It grew on you, and right after you noticed it the itch wouldstart to spread, demanding attention, asking for relief. Sometimes he could go on fully focused,doing what he was expected to do. And then he went to pick Benji up from across the room,talked to him for a bit, said something that made Benji chuckle, sent him back to his place thenwent back to work-- Ethan would later realize he had been paralyzed for a good five minutes,head looping Benji’s chuckles like a broken record. He ended up using his own confusion as adrive to finish things faster.

( _“You have some good pines,”_ , Brandt later said and made Ethan’s head whurred. But as itturned out, Hunley’s grumpy pseudo assistant was just poking at some decorations forChristmas.)

After Solomon Lane was caught, IMF had joined hands with the CIA to hunt down the remnantsof Syndicate. The group was still at large because of Ethan’s action, a consequence thatthankfully still remained a secret between five men. During that period of time, the forcestretched as thin as it could, even with the reinforcement from the CIA; Hunley warned themnot to depend on the CIA’s manpower and resources, as if it was something new for themembers of the trashed-then-pardoned organization.

With Ethan’s findings during his time gonerogue, they managed to cross out half of the rogue nation-- a good sign, but not as good asEthan would have wanted. Whatever was left, they would be the real pain-in-the-asses of thebunch.

(He stressed over Benji’s lack of self-malnourishment as the young man had skipped more thana handful of therapy appointments for the sake of their current mission against the Syndicate.Ethan did what he could: early invites to lunch and dinner, walks to Benji’s home even when hisflat was miles away, requests to be paired with Benji,... so on, so forth.)

(If Benji had noticed, he had done Ethan a tremendous favor by not pointing it out.)

Seven months into their long hunt for the Syndicate, Christmas was partially canceled forEthan’s team-- they were shipped and shoved from different ends of the world, to gather at afund-raising event in Kazakhstan.

“Swan, Hammock, the mark is coming. Ten o’clock, one with a hideous coral bowtie. God, I wantfive of those.”

Agent Trujillo arched an eyebrow at Ethan, and he hoped they had not caught the soft smile heslipped up upon hearing Benji’s comment.

They mingled close together, readied their smiles of a newly-wed couple slash dangerousweapon dealers. Mr. and Mrs. Antabelle’s faces sat snugly on their skins, their contact lensbroadcasted the entirety of the sacrilegious Israel ballroom, slowly zooming in Patrick Kozlov,former KGB agent, presumed dead in 2015. A brute who preferred disembowelment and goodcocktails. They were instructed to capture him alive and extract his contacts with Syndicate, getits location, and storm it as soon as possible.

On the other side of the intercoms were Benji, a veteran named Krischtoff, and a new recruitcalled Vanessa. If Benji was displeased with his backstage position, he did well not to show it.Maybe it was because Benji did not know of Ethan’s insistence (not a plea, he was _not_ pleading,Brandt was _wrong_ ) on keeping Benji as far from the field as possible.

_Focus, professionalism._

Kozlov loved the drugged Bloody Mary courtesy of Vanessa’sconcoction of flavored hallucinogens. The man kept a switchblade under his wrist, he wore abulletproof vest under his blazer, his hands kept flexing like a butcher warming up before the kill.Ethan watched Kozlov follow his steps, gave a signal to Krischtoff, then excused himself to the bathroom as the plan geared into place.

An hour later, Ethan laid dead and bloody on the bathroom floor, Krischtoff putting a dazedKozlov in a chokehold while Trujillo had to gag the wild rogue agent with concentratedchloroform. Forty-five minutes later, Krischtoff stepped out of the “interrogation room” built in amakeshift area of an abandoned warehouse, with bloody pliers, while Ethan was busy cleaningthe remaining fake blood on his vest.

“They called themselves ‘Apostle’ now.” - Krischtoff began casually, handing Ethan a recordingof the interrogation process.

“It doesn’t matter the name. Terrorists are terrorists.” - Ethan said. He wondered whether hecould interject this audio before Benji had to. The thought of letting him hear the horrid violencedone in the name of peace made Ethan uneasy on his behalf. _Protectiveness_ , he felt.

“Followers of one that once was a follower of the system. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Trujillo said with great displease. They retreated to their tracksuit instead of the curvy blackdress at the ball, greeting the two of them with a blank look. Vanessa and Benji would regroupas soon as they finished extracting Kozlov’s last sent signal, which should be for another thirtyminutes.

This mission was the first part of an ongoing hunt for the three stolen plutonium cores, whichthen already went bloody on the first note. Ethan understood that sometimes, in order to undoviolence, violence was also the solution; what mattered was the outcome, the good of many.

Hedecided to decode the recording himself, schooling his face as he heard the mangled, wild criesof Kozlov assaulted his ears. His hand did not shake in the slightest.

“I thought that was Dunn’s job?”

_North Ukraine was the extraction point. Independent gangsters from Europe, they had a bid, the Apostle sent Kozlov to exterminate and steal the plutonium cores from the highest bidder. Youpigs are no better. The Apostle will drown the world under the blood of the hypocrites--_

“Save time.” - Ethan replied to Krischtoff.

Trujillo quickly jumped in - “So the rumor is true. You have a soft spot for the British man.”

“... He is not a “British man”, he’s Benji, my colleague. Can’t I have my colleague have it easyfor today?”

_Tell us where you get your orders. The Apostle is many. Why do you want the bombs--_

Ethan continued, scowling - “And I have no soft spot for anyone. Who started that?”

“Me.” - Krischtoff raised his hand, face impassive. Ethan said nothing back.

_It was already ours from the beginning._

He noted the sentence onto his palm, then later checked the intel from Benji after they got back.The last sent signal (using customized Morse-code, fuckers) was to a nondescript house inMustvee, Estonia, which housed one scientist named Nils Delbruuk two days ago. They wouldnot have found who he was if not for Benji’s sudden interest in social media, which lateruncovered multiple forum articles about the circus shows from the same crazy son of a bitch.

Ethan had subconsciously kneaded Benji’s shoulders, a quick way to express praises, thenquickly understood why Trujillo had to point it out in the first place.

They now were on a highway in Jogeva, driving in a catering company van, Ethan ridingshotgun, while Kozlov was being tied in zip locks and stuffed in a laundry bag. Benji looked tense,even when their missions had gone without a hitch.

“You didn't look too well.” - Ethan said to him as they crossed an intersection.

“No offense Ethan, but that’s a bit too late to play nursery on me, yeah?” - Benji bit back. Heshowed that he was exasperated, finally - “You have to go off to shadow some fascist nut jobright after a twenty-hour flight from Greenland, while I’m supposed to lay back and drinkmargaritas on a yacht? Suppose I’d rather get thrown in a jail cell to dig tunnels with Billy theBaby Eater than go back, so _no thank you_ , Ethan.”

“You’re not going to get thrown into jail, Benji. Nor you would stay in one. I’d get you out nomatter what.”

“Oh would you stop _that_.”

“Stop what?”

“That! Being— you! Always have to take care of everyone, putting your head on the choppingblock, using yourself as a meatshield! You have no self-preservation whatsoever, what’s-- whatis your deal, Ethan?!”

Benji was probably referring to the plan from before, Ethan thought. He saw Benji’s handsgripped the steering wheel, knuckles turned white.

“Need I remind you that the plan was approved by the majority, and you had no interjection afterbeing debriefed. I stood the highest chance of deflecting Kozlov if things go awry, if he didn’tstab me the right way—“

“ _Stab you the right way?!_ Jesus Christ Ethan, do you even listen to yourself?! You andyour-your-your… _totalitarian complex!_ ” - Benji’s voice went an octave higher, shrill - “I saidnothing because I couldn't believe what I was hearing, yet I trusted you, I still do! But thenthere— I barely have to do anything, and when I’m supposed to decode his testimonies, my jobas debriefed, Trujillo told me you snubbed that part already!”

“I did what I had to do. Look, if it’s about you being at the back—“

“ _It’s not just about being at the back, Ethan!_ God!”

He cried out, sounded so choked up that Ethan’s first thought upon hearing was to apologize,because fighting with him felt so wrong, so awful.

Benji pressed the brake and waited for the red light to pass, his forehead dropped onto thesteering wheel, looking small and afraid. Ethan’s chest ached at the sight.

“I know it’s not real, what I've seen today. I know, I fucking know, yet I…” - His voice wavered -“You always put it upon yourself to take care of others, but would you ever let anyone take careof you in return, Ethan?”

The green light blinked, the van went unmoving. Benji looked hurt, and Ethan’s entire body wasin pain.

_It’s my nature_ , he tried to say as the van picked up again after three consecutive horns blaringthem from behind. _It’s not your concern_ , he tried to say.

_I don’t need to be worried_ , he tried to say. _I’d rather hurt your feelings than seeing you hurt_ , healmost said.

“If you’ll have me,” - Benji suddenly began--

\--then swallowed back, fast. Those four words weresupposed to sound smug; however, through his tone of voice, it sounded sad, melancholic.Resigned.

A mosquito bit Ethan’s heart again. Pain spread like a lit match to the hay batch, making Ethan’shands itched with needs. He needed to hold Benji close, needed to push Benji to finish hissentence. Needed to make himself move, wipe that broken-hearted look on his face, say hedeserved better than with Ethan. He wanted Benji close, he wanted Benji to be happy.

( _Easy_ , his mind supplied. _Say you love him back_.)

It was too much. Ethan turned away, silent, his yearnings turned into cactus thorns and piercedhis throat, bloody.

When Ethan was dropped at the border of Jogeva, Benji gave him a care pack. It was probablybought in an airport souvenir shop. He rented multiple hostel rooms and shadowed Delbruukpast Christmas Eve, for four months.

When Ethan gathered enough courage to open Benji’s package, he found out the content wasnot pre-packed, but _hand-picked_ : It had two packs of gingersnaps, five bags of black tea, a heftypack of cocoa powder, and a note.

> _ Merry early Christmas buddy. The cocoa is unsweetened because I refuse to entertain your  _ _ diabetic palate until the day I die. _

> _Hope you have milk in your place, since I trust that you take your hot cocoa like a civilized man _ _ (that is with steamed milk, psst). Don’t let me down, Ethan._

> _ \- B _

If there was any doubt before, now it was clear:

Benji loved him. He was deeply, irrevocably, inlove with him.

Ethan then spent the next indefinite days smoothing the paper note over and over again with histhumb, all the while insisting, over and over and over, that he could not, should not, and _wouldnot_ entertain himself any longer. He would have to cut Benji’s feelings down, he had to.

Even if it meant he had to swallow his feelings down for the rest of his life.

While notorious for his daredevil character, Ethan always tried to stick to the rules of the world.Save innocents, defend justice, have compassion, put villains down, believe in humanity,...things like that. It simply was in his blood, those beliefs. Doing anything against those had neveroccurred in his brain, not even once.

One of the things he also followed (recently, begrudgingly) was the precaution against officeromance.

Far from being a prude, Ethan’s against it because of his own experience. He didn’t need towitness the sight in order to know Jane regretted loving Hanaway; it was the cruel reality anagent must face, a curse in exchange for peace, achieved by sacrifice.

Feelings hinder the act of protecting the world, some might explain it that way. Secret agents donot deserve love, some might argue back. Both were right, Ethan believed.

(But then Nyah and Ilsa, who were agents of their own agendas, deserved love. Brandt, Jane,Luther, they deserved it as well. Benji deserved so much more than just love.)

(Guess that made him a martyr. Guess that made him a hypocrite.)

Ethan remembered that Benji had been there for Hanaway’s death. It must be hard for him tosee Jane grieved and could do nothing, see how love made people suffer. That first taste ofpowerlessness, he knew it well. It was not fair for Benji to experience it so early, but then again,life was never fair.

Maybe that was why Benji kept himself at a distance from Ethan too. Showed love, yet nevervoiced it to existence. You could not lose things that you only admired from afar.

It was only fair Ethan stepped back. Jumped from solo mission to solo missions. Carefullyavoided any ops with Benji on the team. Schooled his smile into a default setting, keeping thesoftness he felt for Benji six-foot under. Their relationship regressed, distant. It was for the best.He pushed Julia away for her sake. He would push Benji away for his sake as well.

(You could never lose things if they had never been yours.)

(Benji was not his, and Ethan would rather hurt himself than to be the Jane to Benji’s Hanaway.)

The close call presented itself in a form of Ethan, breathing raggedly as a steel rod was justmilli-centimeters away from his eye socket, a safety bag pressed to his nose, the back of thedriver’s seat nearly stabbed into his spine, the car he had been driving was folded like apancake between a steel hazard and a black van.

“Oh _fuck off_ ,” - Jane bemoaned next to him, she was as bloody and dazed as him. Ethan knewwhat she meant as he too heard multiple sets of footsteps approaching.

They pushed and pulled at the ruined car doors, actually managed to break the window next toJane, but they could not get out. They were stuck, trapped-- Jane readied her gun, Ethanpressed code for ‘backup’ on the control panel of the car and checked for his dagger, both wereready to fight tooth and nail to secure this intelligent back for the base.

They could not die there, not like this, not after-- Glass sharps flying into Ethan’s face. A shoutof discovery. The butt of a rifle was aiming for him. Two consecutive shots rang.

Ethan realized a second later that he had not died.

The blood from the goon readied to harm him spattered on his face, on the wrinkled wall of thecar, on the darkened pavement. There were more rounds firing; it was from a distance not toofar from here, a surprise attack. Jane checked his face, looked just as surprised as he was.

The last of the goons were dropped, the residue of the gunshots set in the air as a new set offootsteps emerged.

“You two alright in there?!”

Ethan sucked in a breath. He was not supposed to be here. Benji was not supposed to be onthis classified op, especially with Ethan’s careful calculation of Benji’s current mission.

The man was supposed to be miles away, docked in Jerusalem, busied with gaining the ledgerof deceased Mossad agents in order to trace two of the most dangerous agents in Apostle. Notto be here, not in Andorra. Luther was in the same op as Benji, surely he would have saidsomething to warn Ethan first - And this was bad, really bad, Ethan looked like a mess, Benjiwould surely fuss over him--

Procedures; got to follow procedures.

“Recite your oath, Agent.” - Ethan yelled out.

The steps stopped, the minutes dragged out. It could not be Benji. It could be an imposter.

“When did we ever use the whole ‘secret catchphrase’ _bull_ \--”

It was Benji, god. He sounded pissed, which was worse because Ethan could not tell whatmade Benji so aggravated-- either it was Ethan being in another near-death situation after fourmonths of avoidance, or Ethan himself.

They eventually were brought out of the wreckage by Benji and the backup team led by an oldacquaintance. Zhen was as charming as he remembered from ten years ago, her hair cut shortand her laughter lines deepened, her eyes were more guarded as the years swore loyal to theIMF had chipped away parts of her tenacity. He let the ladies became the wall separated himand Benji apart, Ethan retreated to the furthest end of the safehouse and uploaded the securedintelligence to the Analytic team. With this op concluded, Ethan could go back to stalk Delbruukagain. He was so close, that handler from Apostle would show themselves soon, as long asEthan--

The door opened, closed behind him. Footsteps sounded soft.

“You don’t need to say it, Carter.”

“‘Fraid we do, Ethan. Sorry.”

He turned around so quickly he nearly snapped his sprained ankle in half. Ethan anticipatedJane, but not Benji going along with her.

Jane simply leaned onto the door, saying nothing.

The man’s hair was longer since that night, his face was clean-shaven, and there wereunfamiliar shadows under his eyes. Benji looked so good in suspenders. He was thinner, helooked a bit unhealthy. God Ethan missed him, it had been four months since they last met, _didhe sleep well, was there anyone reminding Benji to eat his meals--_

“Thank you for saving us, Benji.” - he said, swallowed his feelings down.

_Be polite. Cut him off. Look at his eyebrows to set the eye-contact illusion. Distant yourself._

“Ah, well, the things we do for,” - Benji paused, his lips smacked together - “For a friend.”

“That you are.”

“Good. So, you won’t, say, kick me back to…”

“I’m afraid you have to go back, right now.” - Ethan raised his voice - “What you did for us wasgreatly appreciated, but your action has compromised your current mission. The Apostle haseyes and ears everywhere, if they end up knowing what you’re doing, or if they follow you--”

“I do follow protocols, Ethan.” - Benji talked back, his face went sour - “Sure my action wasunsanctioned, but Luther got me covered, that’s all good isn’t it? I got a bad feeling ever since Iread the mission log and can’t leave that alone, surely you understand—”

“Just because you can hack your way into the database doesn't mean you get to decide base on your emotion alone. We have failsafe, Benji. You, meanwhile, have acted on your own, without prompt. Do youknow how dangerous it is in this current situation?”

“Well, I _sure hope you know_ , Ethan, 'King of Doing His Own Things'. Leave it to you to doeverything prims and propers but when it’s me, then it’s a danger to other people involved.”

Ethan bit his tongue and turned away.

“Oh that’s grand, let’s leave this at that!” - Benji yelled out, just like that time in Vienna - “I can’tunderstand your-- Ethan, you don’t have to act like this! Talk to me, stop avoiding me! If this isjust me doing my selfish things, I assure you it’s not--”

“Do you? Do you _actually_ know what you’re doing?” - Ethan raised his voice in equal, squared his jaw and went to choosesomething hurtful to drive him back, because Benji had hit something too close to home withthat end, _doing selfish things_ \- “You want me to tell you, fine, you are making things morecomplicated than it should be. You need to leave, now, and back to your team in Jerusalem!”

“I know that! I just-- I just want to see if you are--”

“I don’t _need_ you here! _Leave._ ”

Benji looked like he was gutted right there, by Ethan’s hands.

In a way, he did. Shouldn’t that satisfy him, because he did it? He pushed Benji away, he aimedwhere it would hurt Benji the most. _It should, it had to be done_ \-- he said it to himself, mentallyscreamed it again and again just to drown the fire in his throat, the terrible ache in his chest, theguilt. It had to be done. He had to hurt Benji in order to spare him the pain.

_Don’t push me away_ , Benji’s eyes tried to say, to reach Ethan.

He closed his eyes all the wayuntil there was a slam on the door, finally cut them off for good.

It should feel grand. He should feel free.

“I thought you and Benji were good together.”

Ethan almost forgot Jane was there the whole time. Zhen must have heard most of what was inhere as well, because he was sure he had not been able to keep his voice down.

“He jeopardizes his current work. There’s nothing more to it.” - Ethan replied like an answeringmachine.

“Then fucking look like it, Hunt.”

Without her biting answer, Ethan would not realize his facial expression then: eyebrows drawledtight to the point of hurting, his teeth sank onto his lower lip to the point of tasting copper on histongue.

It was all wrong. He should feel right, even when it hurt, like when he saw Julia beinghappy and safe with someone else, bittersweet.

He should feel…

“I’ll speak to Benji when we get back, but not because of you.” - Jane came near, bent hershoulders to yank the USB out. The upload was completed - “Don’t know what’s you two’s dealis, and you don’t need me to tell you how off I feel-- but if you have to choose what to say inorder to hurt him, maybe that’s the problem.”

“Hey, the British man is leaving.” - Zhen leaned her head into the room. She had certainly heardeverything, from the look on her face.

“... His name is Benjamin Dunn.”- Ethan said, tiredly.

“Alright. Benjamin Dunn has left, just so you know.”

Zhen had that look on her face before retreating; the one from ten years ago, where she simplyobserved how frantic he was looking for the Rabbit Foot, with grief still fresh from the death ofhis prótegé. Sympathy, she conveyed. For who, he could not guess.

Jane soon followed, leaving him alone.

“Ethan.” - She began, and it was a Jane-voice, not an Agent-Carter-voice - “You know, you don’thave to worry about me anymore. I miss him every damn day, I still do. But I have closures, Igive myself time, I let people who care about me stay. They help me drown that one voice inyour head, that one that tells you we don’t deserve things in life.”

She still looked hurt. Maybe that was a scar that would never heal for Jane. But then-- she wasmore than her loss and pain, wasn’t she? That was not how she wanted to be remembered.That was not how Ethan remembered her.

“Let people stay for you, Ethan.” - She said, and left. Ethan was silenced for the rest of the day.

She moved on. He, at the same time, just begun to stir from escaping where he should not be.

_“Line’s secured?”_

“As ready as your end.”

_ “Good. Okay, I need to ask you something.” _

A beat from Ethan. “Delbruuk terminated Kozlov’s contacts after we traced it forty-three hours later, hemoved it around. He had customers but not many can be traced back to the Apostle. I have alead, though.” - Another beat - “How’s your end?”

_“... Antabelle will be aiding us. Said they would secure a meeting with the gangsters soon, but only after price negotiation is approved. Our budget is really screaming at this point, Ethan, butthat’s not what I’m—”_

“What about other ops?”

There was a heavy, bone-deep sigh that only William Brandt could emit, and that was the onlykey Ethan held to know the opposite line was real. No one could mimic that characteristic trait ofhim. Ethan heard a click and the transmission felt different-- Will had switched to PersonalComm, and it would be an act of pseudo-treason to the CIA if they were to find out.Luckily, the one behind the intercom was a bastard, and also IMF’s most successful FieldDirector so far.

_ “I’ve paid my coffee break to talk to a friend, not an agent. For Fuck’s sakes, Ethan,” _

Willnear-whined, which was unheard of --

_"Look, can you and Benji cut the shit and back to flirting like, real soon? I swear, if Hunley tries to sneak up on me and ask me how to be ‘a caring boss and mend those two amazing friends together without making it look like favoritism’ one more time, I will personally drop kick him into that shitty coffee machine in Logistics he loves so much.I’ll drop Benji, I’ll kick you, I will_ personally strangle you both _because I am so fed up with your_ _fucking bull, alright? I’m not asking at this point, I’m pointing at you the hypocritical gun right_ _now. I_ will _cut you off your mission if you leave me on silent, so help me, Ethan. **Don’t,** make,_ _me.”_

Ethan’s ears felt tired, and yet at the same time, he never felt respect for someone’s motorcapacity as much as he had for Will at that very moment.

He deliberately, tentatively, began.

“Ever heard of Yoga, Will?”

_“I am doing Yoga AS WE SPEAK!!!"_ \- the phone screamed back, making him duck his head.Ethan checked the timer, five minutes had passed- _“I would trust my life in your hands, but for the love of God you are an— You,_ you! _You_ specifically _ping me, every week, ever since Lane, to pair you with Benji whenever he has a mission! Now you’re avoiding him like he’s a plague--he’s not, and he looked like he just put down his dog or something, ever since Christmas! You mind telling me some so I can unload the mindfuckery I’m witnessing here, or should I call Luther to knock some sense into you?!”_

“There’s nothing to tell you about.” - Ethan’s voice hardened.

_“Yeah, and Benji ain’t someone to you, not at all! Go ahead Ethan, tell me that. Tell it to my face then I’ll back off, honest."_

Ethan opened his mouth, ready to lie, ready to do what was expected of him to do.

Nothingcame out.

_“Look,”_ \- Will mellowed down, and Ethan could see where this conversation could lead up to - _“No matter how glad I was that your ex-wife was not… dead, there’s still a part in me thatblamed myself. A part that I think you understood more intimately than anyone else. I know you do,when we were at that parking lot chasing after Benji. It haunts us, longer than it should have._ ”

Ethan knew, had always been keen on other people’s emotions, feelings. However - “It was notyour responsibility to care for us, Will. Our fallout is ours to deal with.”

_“And that’s why you’re an infuriating dipshit, god.”_ \- he laughed ruefully on the other side - _"You_ _save and help and care for so many things so damn much, but never expect us to do the samefor you? That’s what we signed up for, we knew what’s coming. That’s why we stay. Reckon youshould give Benji more credit, he’s not in the game just to be the Robin to your Batman, Ethan.”_

A flare of protectiveness came up - “Don’t speak on behalf of his feelings if he didn’t voice it outyet.”

_“Don’t you think it’s not because he’s transparent, but that he wants you to know?”_ \- There’s acalculated pause to Will’s voice - _“Unless you don’t mind that I ask him for coffee this weekend,do you?”_

Ethan slipped up, holding himself back a bit too late. Will definitely heard the noise Ethanmade— it sounded ugly, possessive. Territorial. All logic was gone from him, in that one second.

_“I’m so proud of us,”_ \- Will said gleefully.

“Asshole.” - Ethan bit back, defeated.

_ “Get yourself together then, Mr. Busybody. I’m not kidding about that coffee offers. See ya.” _

Will never bid goodbye in their calls— that was how Ethan knew this conversation was serious,to both of them. He opted to stay in the safe house for the entire day, had his dried ration andboiled tap water for dinner while checking in his findings, registered half in his brain. The otherhalf played an old monologue, months ago from Benji-- when he had lost himself in a rant aboutproper safehouse ration.

_You know what should always be stored in a safehouse’s pantry?_ \- Benji had asked him, a longtime ago, before Vienna, before Lane - _Gingersnaps. ‘Specially those in Trader Joe’s, gosh, Iswear those could last forever! Ginger is good for you. Not a dozen of Slim Jims and cannedtuna and-- oh God in heaven, is that a-_ -

The last saved piece of gingersnaps, he ate for Benji. He ate it like how he trekked around theman he had feelings for: Slow, careful, with commitment, with a lot of second-guessing.

Andwhen he finished it, he missed Benji more as his voice rang in his memory: his _‘I always dreamtof visiting Vienna again, use all two of the tickets instead of one’_ echoed, echoed, in his sleep, inhis wake, waiting for Ethan to come back. Waiting for Ethan to make sense of it all, to see if he would take the fall.

He teetered, yet to fall. The cliff had looked less like death and failure now.

(Maybe when Ethan fell, it would not be lonesome. Maybe at the end of it all, a pair of armswould catch him, as he would trust that one person to do.)

(Maybe at the end of it all, hope was the best strategy he could ever concoct.)

It took Ethan three near-midnight bus drives and one unauthorized security bypass to SouthWest’s domestic passenger lists in order to fly back to Maine in time. The whole flight Ethan wasrestless, practiced his speech and facial expressions until it became pointless— no point inworrying, and yet, he worried anyway.

He placed a mantra of _‘act natural, keep it up, it’s not time to be truthful, people need you’_ during the ride, from the plane to a nondescript cab leading to Lubec; he got it, he would notbreak. It was just a funeral.

The moment he saw Benji, face sunken, glasses obscured his eyes, bandages wrapped on hisforehead and cheeks, Ethan abandoned all previous precautions to run to the man.

It was instant; the way Benji locked eyes with him, the way Ethan opened his arms withouthesitation, the way they slotted themselves into each other’s space as Benji made himselfsmaller, Ethan swore to himself he would become bigger, just to shield Benji of all the pain andsuffering this world could have thrown at them.

Benji’s glasses jammed to his chest, it stung, but it helped hide Benji’s red-rimmed eyes. He letit there, as he let people watch them holding onto each other, openly snug, like Ethan had neverscared shitless for being this close to Benji before. He let it there, let himself forget there was aworld full of evil and hate out there for a moment. Now, his world was here, laid tiredly againsthis palm. He would not have it any other way.

“Is it raining yet?” - Benji mumbled to Ethan’s skin. He did not need to look up. He did not have to.

“Statics at the horizon.” - Ethan replied, aware that the ceremony was about to begin - “Storm’scoming.”

“Bloody force of nature, is she.”

Benji stubbornly hung on to his scowl, he looked lost. When it was time to give a speech, Ethanhanded him his prepared speech written near-identical to Benji’s word usage. He locked eyeswith Ethan throughout the speech.

Somewhere along the line of their works, there would be casualties. The plutonium trade wasonly one of the several forefront battles against Syndicate and the Apostles; some had ended,some were failed, some still going on no matter the cost. No matter if there were lives that wouldnever return… they had to go on, so the lives of those who sacrificed would not be for naught.

(He realized Benji ad-libbed near the end of the speech. _"An agent should deserve more in life,_ _and as in death_." He watched Benji choke up, but he continued, being brave, humane,exceptionally normal Benji -

_"He shouldn't have an empty tombstone. His name is Danny, damnit."_ )

(Benji took it the hardest, for he was described to have the most amount of blood on his face,hands, and chest, as the medic declared Agent Whitworth had died in Benji’s arms.)

Ethan remembered the previous Christmas, when Benji nearly lost it after seeing Ethan laiddead as planned.

He stood outside of the bathroom stall, fists kept secured in the pocket of his dress pants, asBenji hid behind a closed door and proceeded to cry like a wounded animal, with wet sobs andhigh whines that broke Ethan’s heart. Benji mourned like how a normal person would: withincredible empathy and self-blame, with tears that would make his nose runny till the end of theday. He mourned with open sadness, with love.

Ethan chanced a thought at Benji crying above Ethan’s dead body, Benji cradling his head as hebreathed his last-

Couldn’t, he _couldn’t_. The thought of Benji losing him hurt as much as him losing Benji in return.

There was a click— not from a gun, not from the restroom door, he had locked it. Benji finallyemerged, ragged and tired, his hair unkempt with a mess of tears and clear snots on hisreddened face. Being a dork that he was, Benji had worn his glasses inside, and now the lenseswere drenched, fogged Benji’s blue eyes.

He looked as lovely as a babe in Ethan’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” - Ethan said, for many unsaid things. _Sorry for saying I did not need you. Sorry for_ _unable to leave you alone. Sorry for not taking you seriously. Sorry for dismissing your distress.Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for not being ready. Sorry for keeping you waiting, you will have towait for me longer because I am not ready to fall yet._

“I miss you, Ethan.”

He did not say, _‘it’s okay’_ , or, _‘what are you sorry for_ ’. It was not even a direct reply, but it wasthe truth— for both of them.

Just like the night near the Thames, Benji said and did things for the sake of both. Ethan felthimself inching closer to the ledge now, felt more ready to jump.

He took off Benji’s glasses and cleaned the liquid on his lenses with a handkerchief, then usedthe same one to wipe Benji’s runny nose with. He was softly smirking as Benji let out anembarrassed harrumph, but let him do whatever. Ethan inched closer - “Storms passed, aren’tthey?”

“Stop speaking in codes Ethan, Christ. I’m so sick of all these agency bollocks.” - Benji’s voicewas muffled under the cloth. He heard no malice under his voice.

“You like the appeal.”

“Put it in the past tense, please. The only reason I’m still hanging around is that I still have notworn a mask.” - Benji grumbled - “When I get one, it’s all over for you bastards.”

“You will, soon. You will pull it off. They’ll never know what’ll hit them.”

“I’m not a cat needing a preen, Ethan.”- Benji said, modestly and truthfully.

He pocketed the glasses back on Benji’s shirt pocket, then lowered the handkerchief, the otherfree hand traveled to knead Benji’s shoulder.

“I want you to believe like how I believe in you.Know that when you’re there for me, I am for you too.”

Benji looked like he was ready to cry again. Ethan did not worry, for it was rain rather than aflood; Benji ducked his head, hid half of his face under his palm, yet he pressed himself more toEthan’s touch. Ethan let his eyes fix on the man in front of him in a dutiful way, like he hadnothing else he would rather do than be there for Benji.

He had nowhere else he would rather be, in the bathroom of Whitworth’s long-abandonedhouse, with limited sunlight, Benji finally looked up and offered a tiny smile to Ethan— for him, itwas like being offered diamond.

His ghosts of failure, traumas, and doubts were still there, present, uninvited; but he chose to co-existedwith it. Benji still looked at him with the same eyes. He smiled back, toothy, wide, finally trustingBenji to help him sort those confusing feelings out, never break his heart again.

He had no one else he would rather be with, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me about Benthan on Tumblr (grennefoam) if you wanna!
> 
> Also, leave a kudo/comment if you enjoy this. I'll see you in the final chapter, buh-bye!

**Author's Note:**

> In case you can't tell, this is a slow burn. Also no beta in this house, we die like women.  
> Hi, this is my first M:I fic ever! This is sort of a test run for Benthan Week 2020, but instead of a one-shot... I become a masochist.
> 
> Anyway, have fun reading <3I'll try to update this fic on a weekly basis. Since this is a practice run, I want to commit to this exercise to the end... and hopefully, the end will worth it.  
> Drop kudo/comment if you like, I’d love to hear your thoughts and talk about these wonderful boys <3


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